*smacking head against desk*

Okay-- I know this. I know life is better with sleep. But never does it seem such a simple lesson as when I'm a flaming bitch all day, and then I fall asleep.

I wake up, and the short people back away from me slowly, the tall people are ingratiating, Mate is ginger about approaching me, and the animals growl when I approach.

"AHA!" I think wisely, "Maybe I should take a nap BEFORE I rip the face off of everybody within a two mile radius?"

And then I stay up til two in the morning writing again. *sigh*

And other than that? I had to frog my sock. I thought that one motif repeat of 8 stitches wouldn't make that much of a difference--what, another inch? Really? Yeah-- another inch is like a planet in sock-land, and this puppy would have been big on ME, and I get water in my ankles. It's a good thing my sock-buddy is also running late... we may actually roulette eachother in sync, and we'll have the rest of you (who are being outrageously good about meeting your deadlines) to keep us honest. Of course, I would like to write the pattern sometime before then, and that's always hard. Not HARD so much as it makes you put words to stuff that you just know, and that (as I learned when I first tried to teach English, a subject I understood like my body understands water) is REALLY hard. But when I do, I'll take a picture of the test pair (still going to Shelley, first reviewer of Bitter Moon II:-) and post the pattern, because, well, it really IS Lady Cory's Punk Goth Brocade and I'm very proud of it.

And other than that? The Cave Troll... (Okay, we'll call him Big Q--but 2 1/2 years of blogging is hard to shake!) keeps saying profound shit that I forget to record. We were watching Dumbo (and for a rant, how about Dumbo? Let's see... institutionalized racism, class-ism, underaged drinking, smoking, and the fact that all the supposed adults treat this poor kid like shit--I mean, I'm sure that movie has made its share of serial killers... just sayin'!) and a very drunk Dumbo blew a sqare bubble. "That's a cube," said the Cave Troll, clearly reciting, "a cube is a solid square. All solid shapes have their own names. A solid circle is a sphere."

Well thank YOU Mr. Science--I was clearly impressed.

"Mom, I want a bottle of pink milk!"

*sigh* Yup, I've got a five year old genius who still likes drinking from a bottle. Trust me, I'm taking pictures and they're going as blackmail.

And Ladybug? She's going to rule the freaking rule. I was reading these very charming books to her that Roxie gave me (the cat books, by Nicola Bayley--each cat wants to be a different animal, until it gets wet.) And Ladybug starts screaming, "Crab Cat, mama! Crab cat!" I had to REALLY look at the cover to see the crabs... I'm seriously thinking she recognized the word. Be afraid. VERY afraid.

And on that note I'm off. I have to do research on Redding. I'd rather have my toenails pulled, but they seem to have this wonderful phallic shaped sundial bridge... I mean, anything shaped like an erect penis has got to be good for the Cory-verse!

Short people got... no reason...

Don't like no short people... (go Randy Newman!)

Seriously-- yesterday, the short people literally DROPPED into a coma, at around 2:00 pm. We actually STOOD THEM UP, to wake them up, and they just dissolved into sleeping puddles of short people...until arund 7:00, when they woke up, REALLY woke up, and ran around in circles until one in the morning.

This morning I was walking the tightrope of sleep-deprived reality in double time, and the sweetest thing that happened to me was the nap I got when Chicken got home. I told the tall food-suckers to mind the short people and slept for two hours. It's the only way I got through our 'Course Faire' function tonight, but it doesn't feel like it really took.

The really exciting thing about the 'Course Faire' is that I got to sign people up for the Creative Writing class... and I'm starting to feel some real enthusiasm about teaching it. Huzzah! Maybe I'm good at this... I seem to remember being good at this... wouldn't it be wonderful if I was good at something?

I've actually started a list of shit that I don't do well... it's sort of daunting-- want to see?

Politics
Chess
Dieting
Keeping track of the date
Doing simple math in my head
Cook
Clean
Drive
Park
Fix cars
Do word puzzles
Do jigsaw puzzles
Follow written directions or diagrams
Scrapbook
Take pictures
Computers
Compartmentalize my emotions
Calm down
Refuse to obsess about stuff
Rein in my children
Rein in my students
Remember to mark tardies
Shop
Spend money
Curb my yarn budget
Dress
Groom (you all should see my hair)
Garden
Punctuate sentences
Decorate

and I can't go on--it's just too depressing. I mean OI! Is it any wonder I'm psychotically insecure? What exactly do I have to be secure about? My stunning ability to write in the midst of the giant pile of crap on the kitchen table? Really--if there was award for that, I might have the self-esteem to make a diet stick!

But enough of that (MORE than enough I can hear you shout!) Let's move on to fiber content. I've started my roulette sock, and I made it a little bigger, and now I'm spazzing out that it's too big. I had NO idea how nerve wracking this would be if you suffer the 'big-ass-feet' malady--large ankles? Small ankles? Medium ankles and large feet? I'm at a loss. I'm just gonna hope the ankle isn't too big, that's all. I like the way the sock looks when it's done (I've finished the first test sock) and now I can only hope the size takes care of itself.

And I heard something really disturbing while watching CSI tonight (because, you know, watching them pull maggots out of blood pools shaped like turtles isn't disturbing enough.)

"They're trophies," said Lawrence Fishburne, referring to the many lovely objects d'art accrued by a con man. "Collecting is pathological behavior, whether you're a rich man with art, or a serial killer."

Or a knitter, surrounded by boxes of sock yarn. Yup. The things you can learn on C.S. I.!

And now this sleepy pathological insecure psycho is going to bed!

Oh hey... things got interesting!

Only little interesting, but still... you know... interesting...

The thing is, traffic was bad. I mean, you know...BAAAAAAAD. And I looked up as I was passing the exit for work on the way to the babysitter's, and realized, "Hey--this is usually the time I LEAVE the baby sitter's! Holy bats, Crapman! I'm frickin' late!"

So I took Ladybug to work with me, and she was a big success.

I think one of my favorite moments was when a kid pulled out his little laser pen and had her running around the room looking for that light like Hammy from 'Over the Hedge'! (I looked for a video on Youtube, but got sidetracked by all the pretty Jensen/Jared vids in the way....mmmmm...Jensen...wait, what was I? Oh yeah... trust me. The spot was funny.) But she got fussed over, fawned over, told she was lovely, told she looks just like mama, told she has beautiful eyes, told she has beautiful hair, and told she was REALLY articulate for four years old. And then our principal told her she was the SHORTEST freshman he'd ever seen. Anyway, the kids thought she was lovely, and she is now extremely tired and trying to hijack my keyboard--so, uhm, that was interesting.

The other interesting thing was that a kid threw up in my trash can--the good news is, I don't think she was high! The bad news is... DUDES! GROSS!!!

And I'm starting my roulette sock tonight. Sweartadog... I actually started it last night, but I couldn't find any of my beading needles (I think that's because Ladybug figured out they were fun to cut up with yarn scissors. *sigh*) Anyway, that should probably stop my almost paralyzing case of startitis in it's tracks--buds, I'm done with my friend's chocolate wool hugging hat, and I'm ready to finish all the stuff in my project bag and get to work on some baby socks, hats, and blankets, cannyagimmehallelujia, I've got until April!!!

Oh yes--one other thing. As I was sitting here, trying to type a blog, Mate went to the pan of chicken nuggets I'd, uhm, lovingly prepared, and said, "So, am I eating nameless chicken parts tonight?"

I concentrated on my post for a minute and then let out a chicken squawk... you know, "B'Gawk..."

Uhm, except it came out really loud... so loud, that the real Chicken came rounding the corner just as I screamed, BGAAAAWWWWKKKK!!!" And said "What in the hell is THAT?" Just as I spit soda all over my keyboard because I'd surprised MYSELF! Dudes. Sometimes 'interesting' is really code for "My dorkfisn has totally taken over...swim away! Swim away now!!!"

And that's about it for the moment-- a drive-by posting as it were. I've got a walk to take and socks to make and cakes to bake... well, everything except the cakes, because, uhm, you know. Me and cooking. Bad news.

*yawn*

What can I say? My life IS that boring!

I DIDN'T get a start on the roulette socks tonight (although I may go and do that before I go to bed... just to say I've done it) but I DID start a colleague's hat. (Well, two of them, actually, but one's more urgent than the other.) I was REALLY depressed when I learned that this guy was sick--he's sort of one of those laid-back, wry, funny people whose whole life is understatement, but who adds up to seven buckets of awesome anyway.

Anyway, I made him a hat, in a dark, masculine brown, and as I worked on it I had two sentiments.

A. This yarn is malabrigo, and that's starting to become a pr0n word for me... it is just so yummy it turns you on, and I was thinking, "Gees... this will be soooooooo soft on an abused cranium... good choice!"

B. And then I thought, "Brown? I couldn't come up with anything cheerier than brown?" So I guess I'll give it to the guy with a note that says he can either think of it as a nice warm chocolate wool hug, or he can wear it when he feels like shit--either way, it will be cathartic.


We went and saw Coraline, AGAIN. I was honestly at a loss--the kids had been sick all week, it had been raining for half the week... I didn't want to throw the little ones into the germ-warfare trench that IS the MacDonalds/Chuckie Cheese/whathaveyou indoor playground, but I didn't want the week to go by with nothing fun. We WERE going to do the zoo, but did I mention the rain? So we took them to a movie, they enjoyed it, came home and played and went to sleep early, leaving us big kids to watch the Oscars in peace.

A few notes on the Oscars:

Hugh Jackman--6 buckets of awesome, mostly for the dance scene at the beginning.

Screenwriter for Milk (I think that's who he was... kids weren't asleep at this point)--6 buckets of awesome, for growing up gay in a conservative Mormon family and then growing up to win AN OSCAR showing why this shouldn't have been a bad thing at all.

Oscar planning committee--5 buckets of awesome for changing the format. It was very visually arresting, however, those of us who didn't have HD teevee couldn't read the several screens on the stage, and that was irritating.

Whoever was in charge of the wall-o-death--two buckets of ugly for forgetting George Carlin. I don't care why he wasn't on the wall-o-death, he was a benefit to the whole entertainment industry... unless he requested it specifically in his will, he needed a picture of him, in Bill and Ted's Big Adventure, being amazing.

Kate Winslet--7 buckets of awesome for asking daddy to whistle so she could wave to him while she was on stage. My dad would have done the same thing with the exact same whistle. Probably the only thing Katy and I will ever have in common, but it felt good.

Anne Hathaway--two buckets of awesome for participating in the first song number w/Mr. Jackman. She would have gotten more buckets of awesome, but, really, how much of a hardship could that have been?

Oscar planning committee--5 buckets of awesome for having past Oscar winners address their peers--the people receiving the awards were truly moved, and so was I.

Big T--4 buckets of awesome for planning to include me in his Oscar speech. 2 buckets of ugly because he's planning to thank me for helping him edit his script.

And there we have it--my life is so boring, I had to go on an Oscar rant. Tune in tomorrow as I categorize my toenail clippings... or we see if Little Q's teacher notices that his sister didn't get off all of the nail polish she put on while they were knocking around the house in utter boredom. Either way, the fun never stops!

(And Galad liked my book TOOOOOOOOO!!!!! Thank you, darling--the review on amazon was wonderful, and the one on your blog was awesome, and I'm sooooo very glad it was worth being a Valentines Day gift... Thank you for all of your cheerleading this last year--you really do help keep me going!)

And THAT'S the end!

I'm Free...

Okay, not really, but the kids are finally kicking their flu, and hopefully, since I worked three out of the five days they had it, I won't get it.

The title, though, comes from Ladybug. She still sounds like a three-year old forty-year chain smoker, but she was SO anxious to get out of the house when I got home. We put on her little poncho and her backpack, and Chicken and I took her out walking. She went for a run instead. When she runs she puts her head down and her hands and elbows behind her, and wobbles her hips like a hula doll, and somehow carries herself forward with sheer trotting momentum. So she was running, and I start ripping out the old 'Who' riff-- I'm free... I-m FREE! (See the video below:-) And she shouted it, running down the sidewalk-- "I'm FREE!!!"

Then she'd hear me singing and turn to me, and say, "Not you, mommy. You're not free."

Okay, then. Apparently I'm very expensive!

She would stop every few steps and point stuff out-- "Look, mommy--cat!" "Look mommy--puppy!" "Look mommy--turkeys!"

Chicken and I would say, "That's nice, sweetie, a cat! A puppy!"

"Holy shit mom!" Chicken burst out. "Turkeys! There's TURKEYS ALL OVER THAT YARD!!!" Apparently turkeys are scary en masse!

The weirdest thing about that little walk though--Ladybug stops and goes, "Look, mommy--bem."

Chicken and I look at each other. "Bem?"

"Look mom! Bem!"

We're looking, and we can't figure out what she's pointing to--swing set? Slide? Fence?

"Mom--the street's called 'Beam'."

"Yeah mom! Bem!"

Chicken and I look at each other. "Naaah... not possible."

Really isn't. I hope.








And now a funny story from Mr. Trick.

Of course, I use pseudonyms for the teachers I work with just like I do for my family, but the real trick to Mr. Trick isn't his name--it's the fact that in spite of concerted and organized attempt to live up to his authority figure status as my department head, the guy hasn't managed to get banished to the psychic room of antipathy to which I send 85% or more of my authority figures. My principal has also eluded this room, and so has my curmudgeonly colleague (although I think I put him in the doorway last year for a little while, his basic integrity and decency saved him from actually crossing the threshold). Anyway, besides offering me a kleenex when I was blubbering in his room last year, the following story (which I have asked permission to relate:-) will illustrate why I hold Mr. Trick in such high esteem.

Last night was an 'intro' night for parents of incoming freshmen, and Mr. Trick did his dog-and-pony show to explain how we do live up to some standards and we do have our shit together. He was trying to get the parents to access their own high school experience by pointing out that their students will be reading the same stuff that they read when they were in high school, when he ran into the following obstacle.

"So, your kids will be reading what you read--you all remember what you read in high school, right? Can you remember the titles?" And he held up (according to his story) the obligatory "teacher follow-along hand".

Nobody raised their hand. From the back of the room, an angry middle-aged man who called himself 'Bull' said, "I burnt my books."

"Excellent," said Mr. Trick, "Now moving right along..."

"No, really--I burnt my books. I gathered them into a pile and ripped out the pages and..."

"Right," said Mr. Trick grimly, "so can you remember the titles of any of the books you BURNT?"

*happy sigh* Classic Mr. Trick. The kids adore him, and so I find I must as well.

And now I go to knit a sock. I have 1 1/2 of the Lady Cory socks done, and then I'm going to start a single sock for the sock roulette--same pattern, only a little larger (since it's for a fellow sufferer of big-assed feet). The first one turned out very nice--I am pleasantly pleased, and I will try (I have given up promising anything photo wise) to get a picture before I send them away.

And I have noticed that my obsession with my book-stats seems to have faded. That one review of Bitter Moon II (and editors, I STILL haven't gotten my books--I'm very frustrated. Hear me seethe.) seems to have done for me what Ladybug's walk did for her. It set me free;-)

Holy Clustering Germfuck, Batman...

Okay--that's almost exactly what I said when I put my hand on Big T's head today and discovered that we'd hit a homerun in the illness department. I may have left out the 'fuck' but he knew what I meant. *sigh* Fucking February.

* Other weird news? I may have reached a new low in the teaching department today. I was teaching knitting to two girls who, I know, have rather, uhm, sophisticated (re: slashfic) taste in reading.

"Okay... so knitting is when you spread the little guy's legs and go in that way, and purling is when you go through the backdoor."

Lesson over--they started laughing and then I realized what I said. Alas the day I ever taught them double entendre.

* Chicken made a request of me tonight.

"Mom--you know this thing you did where you put french fries in with the pasta sauce and cheese?"

"Yeah."

"You know the recipe with the chicken and the catsup?"

"Uhm, yeah?"

"Could you file the french fries and pasta sauce with the chicken and the catsup? They both deserve to die a merciful death."

"Consider it done. My apologies."

"No worries... the pasta was okay..."

* And finally (since this was such a day for blogfodder), we managed to traumatize Ladybug via Top Chef tonight. Upon hearing that one of our favorite competitors had been eliminated, Chicken, Big T and I all let out a loud, tortured, collective groan. It was SOOOO loud that Ladybug heard it on her way back to the bedroom, let out a squeal and ran wailing into the door to the bedroom. We were laughing so hard it took me a minute to get up and help her. Bad mommy, baaaaad mommy... but very funny Ladybug!

It's February...

It's February the time of year
When things are decked with hearts
It's also when my kid's immune
Systems fall apart.

It starts in the morning, It starts at night
Of an ordinary day
The coughs, the fever, the headaches the pain
And my children have the plague.

There was the year when poor Big T
Made it to Valentines day
The next day we snagged him off the couch
At home for days to stay.

There was the year we all got sick
Mom had to bleach the couch.
My lesson plans went to hell and shit
Cause I couldn't think to type them out.

This year it started with Chicken
And her poor exploding head
(And to top things off, she went on the rag
On the day she felt most dead!)

Next there came poor Q
A fever and the blahs
There's nothing sadder than seeing a kid
More fish-eyed than a scrod.

The thing that makes it sadder
Is that they're on break right now
Being sick sucks, I'll give you that
But sick on vacation? Wow!

So the rain comes down
In icy sheets, and to work I'll go
And feel bad for my poor kids
On the couch with aching heads, watching the day go slow.

I'll think about movies to rent them.
I'll stock up on drugs big and small.
I'll Purex my hands until they bleed
Cause I don't want to join them all!

I'll let them sleep on my body
I'll feed them ice cream and juice.
I'll be nice to Chicken and do my own dishes
And give them my 'cheery mom' mood.

And I'll try not to think of tomorrow
When I go back to work after all
Because it's the third Wednesday of the month
And I've missed all my dept meetings since fall.

I should have seen this one coming.
I swear that it comes every year.
My children get sick when school gets crazy
But my memories of sickness aren't clear.

As I get my umpteenth cup of juice and water
As I cheer up my millionth pout
As I throw away another bucket of kleenex
I think, "You know, I think I've blocked it all out!"

So I'll post this filk til next February
And pull it out at this time
When the boring misery of Lane-family-sickness
Was preserved in snot-crusted rhyme:-)

Crap & shit

* Okay--I forgot to post yesterday. Just flat out forgot that I try for every other day and got caught up in big doings like naps and dinner and a movie with Mate. Sorry!

* We gave each other cards-- mine was home-made, and featured a foamie frame, decorated with buttons and flowers, and showing off the lyrics to Open Arms (by Journey, Jack & Teague fans) and being modeled by Big Q. Mate liked it--of course there's a personal note written on the back, but I think he liked the idea of something inexpensive, but important. I, uhm, got a button that said "I got this from the world's greatest lover." And $15 in i-tunes that I can't really use until the end of February, when my royalty check comes in (and I can replace my ipod). But I'm already planning, so that's good.

* You may have noticed that 'The Cave Troll' shall heretofore be known on the blog as Big Q. He's sort of outgrown that whole 'Cave Troll' thing in public-- but his father and I will remember him as the Cave Troll for the rest of his natural born life.

* Did you notice that some of my slash/fic rockstars showed up and commented on the blog! *squeal* *swoon* Thanks Madeleine Urban and Madelynne Ellis-- you guys really made my week!

* I actually had a class come in on Friday and ask, very politely, "Ms. Lane, if we promise to take our quote quiz next week, can we PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE finish the Crucible?" They were engaged, interested, enthusiastic--of course I said yes. Had a lovely discussion afterwards--I actually thanked the class for being interested in their subject. It was a good day, and the only reason I ever wanted to teach AP in the first place. The fact that the class was a class of regular juniors didn't matter--interest, engagement, active thought, sweartadog, it's all I've ever wanted from my job.

* We got a note in Big Q's backpack this weekend that I read on Wednesday. It said "This year, we would like your child to make his or her own valentines." All 24 of them. So there I was, in the craft store, buying hole punches and foamies and stickers... when I heard Open Arms by Journey on the speaker system. Uhm... wait... that could explain item number two, couldn't it? Anyway, 24 valentines-- Chicken and I made them in two hours. Big Q signed them. *ah* What a lovely idea-- thanks Mrs. McGearing!

* Chicken also volunteered to bring cookies to her Spanish class. This wasn't so bad-- we used prefab cookies and I flipped them off a pan with a spatula, and Chicken caught them, like a Mario and Luigi game. It was pretty funny, and then one of the cookies rolled off the plate and back onto the pan. And then it did it again, and I giggled, "That cookie is doomed... doomed doomed doomed!" Big T heard me from the other room, having been told that the cookies were NOT for big brothers, and suddenly there was the thundering sound of a ginormous teenager pounding through the house. "Doomed? Did you say that cookie was doomed?"

Well THEN it was!

* It's blowing and howling outside today--I need to run some errands, and all I WANT to do is curl up in a ball and decide what I'm going to do about my roulette sock. Dammit--I was going to do a test sock, and I'm more than halfway through, but I think it's pretty obvious I won't finish the test sock AND the actual sock by the end of February, so I'm going to have to put one more sock on the needles. *sob* I can't keep track of how many socks I'm working on right now. I'm SO confused!!!

* No reviews on Bitter Moon II yet, but I HAVE had some feedback. (My copies haven't arrived from iUniverse, editors--I swear, as soon as they do, I'll be at the post office with books and yarn and a cartload of gratitude!) I'd like to thank Andrea, who spoke out on the blog last week, and Ally L who wrote me a long and thorough e-mail, both of whom assured me that the book got the job done. A friend of mine also e-mailed me twice, looking for reassurance--she told me the book was INTENSE, and I figured that was a compliment, right? Thanks, guys-- I'm grateful. My butt-cheeks have marginally unclenched and I can start gently disengaging a part of my psyche from the land of the three moons--I've been stuck there for about a month, and it's made writing in the Coryverse a lot harder than it usually is.

* Ladybug... "Mom, sit in your lap me." This is Ladybug for, "Mother figure, thou shalt drop all of your engagements, sacrifice your clothing, and sit down to watch Spongebob for the umpteenth time while I eat something messy and spill it on your shirt." Usually I don't mind, but she tends ask me to do this RIGHT when I've started writing. *sigh* Children really do eat your brains, and precious little girls with "You love me don't you," smiles really are evil. I love them all.

Done for now!

Bless me Ward, for I have Sammed.

Okay, once again proof that you can link all things in life to Supernatural, I have to admit that I have pulled a Sam.

For those of you who watch the show, you will understand this--for those of you who have the good sense to avoid this obsession, let me explain.

Sam Winchester is the younger brother. He is dreamy, passive aggressive, and although he tends (or tended) to be the one to find an 'alternative solution' to hurting people (or things) he also likes to go for the flashy ending. He's gotten into more trouble by calling the cops when he should have shot someone, beating someone up in public when he should have done it in private, or taking his gifts and using the easy way out, than his brother Dean has with his big mouth and womanizing. See, Dean likes the idea that he's a hero-- he's devastated when he blows the hero thing after 30 years in hell, he understands that the things he and Sam do will never be remembered, and he's okay with that.

I should have been okay with that. I should have just put out Bitter Moon II and been content with the idea that as far as my gut/heart feeling went, it might not suck. I should have waited patiently for feedback and not tried to go the hero route...but I blew it, and I Sammed.

It started out innocently, really it did.

A discussion started with my slash/romance peeps, and we started to wax nostalgic about a couple of characters who SHOULD have ended up together--but didn't. No, I'm not going to name names--because the thing is, the author who created these characters is absolutely RABID about fanfiction- she refuses to allow it, her lawyers will hunt it down on fanfic sites and kill it dead, and she will brook no discussion about the fate of these two characters ending up together even on her forum. And the fact that these two men ended up with women when it seemed obvious to a whole lot of folks that they were happier with each other has been renounced and denied again and again.

So, anyway, we were having a rather *blush* frank discussion about how that scene might play out, if it was allowed to do so, and suddenly, the dragon--the one who has been sort of fluttering away steadily as I've worked on Rampant--let out a mighty roar.

It took an hour and a half, tops, and suddenly I had eight pages of fanfiction. HOT fanfiction. I mean H.A.W.T. fanfiction. And it needed to be shared. I sent out a quickie attachment to my slash/fic peeps, thinking, hey, my particular friends might read it (the group has over 100 members) but the big name M/M authors aren't going to be pulled out by such a silly little snippet of whatsexhaveyou, right?

Uhm... I got COMPLIMENTS. Compliments from Jourdan Lane, T.A. Chase, Madelynne Ellis and Madeleine Urban (I think--it may have only been one Madeleine/yne), not to mention other good and dear friends on the thread. (Mary, Jen, uhm-hm, talking bout you!)

I was floored.

Because, uhm,

A. I don't feel all that impressive to be getting praise from the rockstars of slashfic,

and, uhm,

B. I ripped open my chest and poured out a hunk of my flesh for a YEAR for Bitter Moon II, and here I was, waiting with my butt-cheeks clenched, hoping that someone out there kind enough to drop all that cash (this is me, apologizing to all of you again, because I'm so embarrassed by the price!!!) might like the book enough to review it, and after a pleasurable (oh yeah, I enjoyed it) hour and a half, here I was, getting just a little bit of glory.

I'd done it. Accidentally, but I'd done it.

I pulled a Sam.

And just like Sam on the show, I'm torn--seriously torn. No, it probably was walking on the dark side to write a bit of forbidden fanfic, but...but..but... it felt so GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD. How am I supposed to spend all my effort being the unsung hero when a little bit of work gets me these kind of results? *dark ecstatic shudder*

Ahem. All better now. Priorities rearranged--and, in fanfic parlance, my redemption is probably all written in the canon anyway. My compliments to the show, I'm hoping that Sam will realize the error of his ways--you all know I've always been a Dean-girl myself:-)

Not Work Friendly...

But pretty fucking funny...



OKay-- I promise a real blog later on tonight, but, uhm, while indulging my sick and sad obsession, I stumbled across this, which, no matter who is mouthing the words, really is pretty fucking funny...

Gifts

I've been getting gifts. Little/big gifts. Supremely welcome gifts. Makes me wish I was a better person to deserve them gifts. I mean, how am I going to keep up the appearance of being an angsty, neurotic mess when the universe keeps showering me with rewards for having good taste in friends?

I can't--so today, I'm going to scatter the happy glitter of my gratitude out into the airwaves with a healthy dose of humility: these gifts were awesome--I am not worthy, but I'll accept them anyway.

Roxie sent my kids valentines--adorable Superman valentines, with temporary tattoos. Chicken was charmed, Big T was confused, and the Cave Troll was insistent that his name was KEWYN and not Cave Troll. I don't know what else to call him on the blog--it is a problem--but he was very grateful for the little tattoos. Ladybug does not yet know she has one--Chicken put it on her back, so my baby girl has a temporary tramp stamp. Isn't it awesome how even the smallest gifts keep on giving? Thanks, Roxie--it was a whole lot of fun! (And I'm still a 3rd grader at heart-- I GOT VALENTINES!!!)

Genieve from Oregon (where apparently all good things come from) sent me hand-inked bookplates, decorated with Little Goddess things. I don't know why she did this, but my writing inspired her, and I was not going to look a gift-bookplate in the mouth. She tells me there's another package in the works--I was thrilled enough with this one, I think another one is going to leave me floored!

Donna Lee... okay, I can't even TYPE this without giggling. For those of you who haven't followed Donna Lee's spin-along/knit-along, she has been--along with her Ravelry group--spinning up the same color and knitting up the same pattern in order to see how the individual spinning affected the overall look of the end product. (I got that right, yes?) And... and... (SQUEEEE!!!!) SHE SENT ME THE FINISHED SCARF! I didn't get it until after dark, and I want a good picture so I'm going to see if I can get a shot tomorrow--the color is BLINDING--it's called 'Sunshine of your love' (you know, after the classic rock song? ) and it's like summer in Arizona, right here in the grey-blah Nor/Cal winter. Donna didn't care for the color--and I enthused sincerely over it. Sometimes I just like BRIGHT, you know? Well now I have it, and I've been giggly ever since. And it's DREAMY soft--I wore it on my walk tonight, and it was just WUBBLY. It's funny though--I opened the package and danced around a little and then tried to get the Cave Troll to wear it for a picture.

"No, Mom--it's YOURS."

Well, I guess Donna Lee is right--the color isn't for everyone--but I sure am glad it's for me! Thanks a gazunga, Donna Lee--I'll try for pix tomorrow!

I've got a whole other post planned for tomorrow, that's a little grumpier and a little more neurotic, and I've got a minor rant about the pile of turkey poop on the far end of my walk that I DIDN'T step in and how now I'm having a Monk moment because 'they don't all match' but all that's for tomorrow.

Today, the Universe likes me, and I'm going to sit back and bask in it and return the favor.

Thank you, kind people--you made the world kind and lovely and shining, all on your own. I'm in awe.

Cause I'm off today...

Let's see if blogger will post pictures... (and because my damned computer just ate four pages of Rampant and I'm PISSED!)

Now, I'm going to go pick the Cave Troll up from kindergarten (I'm off today) and hopefully, by the time we get back, there will be pix!

(Tada! The knitting pic has my fingerless mitts, in this GORGEOUS color called 'peacock'... mmmm....)

Sleep--the magic ingredient!

I couldn't figure out why my writing brain seemed to be drying up... I mean, it was revving at a mile a minute most days, why couldn't I seem to put anything on the screen?

And then I fell asleep...HARD... last night at around 9:30, and it occurred to me: You have to have sleep to write. Or, at least it helps when you're not falling asleep over your keyboard. *flat of palm to forehead* OOOOHHHHHH... I get it NOW!!!

Anyway--that being said, I've got some random shit to chat about-- hopefully funny random shit that will chase away the blahs-- whattya think?

* Chicken dyed half her hair black-- the bottom half. Looks pretty good, but now she's discovered that she's allergic to hair dye and her scalp is itching and red. *oi!* Of course, Ladybug had to have a little bit of 'girl stuff' so I dyed a lock of her hair that I thought would stick together. It didn't, and the whole top of her head looks muddy, but I'm just a goober enough to think it's pretty funny anyway.

* I got my 2nd period to shut up (for once) during announcements and an amazing thing happened. The principal said, "Everybody enjoy your three day weekend!" And I said, "What three day weekend?" Because, you see, my children's school district doesn't have this day off--they have an entire week off after this week. (Great for them, sucks for me!) Anyway, I flew to the computer, pulled up the district calendar, and hopped, skipped and danced my way through my classes. I have Monday off--huzzah! (Anything to stock up on reserves for the long, angry brutality that is March and May...)

* Speaking of dancing... a kid who failed last semester but who came back determined to pass this semester did her homework-- and I did the funky-chicken-w/mashed potato dance at her desk, just so she couldn't say nobody had ever done a happy dance for her. The rest of the class had pretty much done THEIR homework, so I did the same thing for them. They were pretty impressed--probably they were impressed with my complete goober-dom, but they were impressed nonetheless.

* Okay, normally I'm not a big fan of happy-crap (as we call it) but my teaching-esteem has been down in the crapper for so long, that when this happened, I was an instant fan. The kids were given labels and were supposed to write a reason they respected themselves on one label (and put it on their shirts), a reason they respected a friend on the other label (and give it to their friend or family member) and a reason they respected a staff member on the last label and give it to the teacher.

Dudes, I got like seven labels! Considering the fact that I've felt like a screeching bitch with an autoplay of "For crap's sake be quiet!" on a talkback button, I was pleased. Most of the labels said something about my sense of humor... I didn't know anybody was paying attention--it was sweet!

* Today I had Chicken put her little brother's shoes and socks on before I went to gymnastics. I got to gymnastics and took off said shoes and socks and realized that she'd given him purple ruffled socks. Evil heifer.


* An older woman was in the yarn store today with a (mostly) completed pair of socks--really big, man's socks that went almost to the knee with a six-inch 1x1 twisted rib cuff before the stockinet leg of the thing started. She was upset. She had run out of yarn, when the person at the counter had PROMISED that the yarn would make a normal pair of man's socks. She said she hadn't had the pattern with her, but since the person at the counter had PROMISED (and I don't know of ANYONE who deals with yarn yardage who would do this) then she should get the yarn for free.

Now I was busy with the short people (who were NOT on good behavior and who needed to be hauled out of the store on the fly) and, of course, it was none of my business, but, uhm, I was tempted to smack her. I mean, these socks were HUGE--they weren't just man's socks, these were extra-large man's lederheusen!!! How would ANYBODY guess that this is what she had in mind when she was talking about man's socks?

Anyway... gees, lady, give your yarn people a break!

* I'm working away at the prototypes for my February sock-- it's actually pretty cool--the contest is keeping me honest!!! (And I'm loving this pattern right now--I'll love it more when I make the necessary modifications for the contest sock, but I think this will look pretty damned punk-goth. And it will be big!)

And that's about all folks, except... wait...

Oh yeah-- Andrea--thanks for reading Bitter Moon II-- come back and tell me how you like it! And Eric suggested (ahem) that I mention the Daily Show in my list of favorite shows. Of course I will-- how would I get my news unless it was couched in satire?

Oh yeah-- one more thing-- I'm on Kindle now!!!!

Actually, all my books are on the Kindle--it cost a little, but it makes me feel MUCH better about my colossally expensive books and btw? I'm not sure if I've said this? But I am FOREVER AND HUGELY GRATEFUL for those who have put out their $$$ out of pocket to buy my books. It is a huge compliment, and I never, not once, not even for a second and a half, take it for granted. Thank you!

And 'Thank you!' is a good place to leave it! Ciaou!

Weird...

I've really got nothin' this time! Kid's okay, me okay, knitting okay (more than okay, actually--I'm really hitting a KNIT MORE groove.) This means that for me, it's all about the TV.

You guys know what my favorite is-- (*Channelling Springsteen, who, btb, rocked my world as always when he played the Superbowl: Do I have to say it? Do I have to speak it's name?)

But for me, there's always more to television than, you know, the glowing anesthetic god in the corner of the room--for me, the tv gives us a universal storyteller. Of course, (thank you cable!) we get a larger and slightly more insane choice of stories every day, and some stories are better and more important than others (listen: can you hear my teacher voice coming out?) but stories are the lifeblood of the human soul--when I told Grandpa that heroes fight their nemesis every day, well, we've both read Beowulf... we both know the hero doesn't necessarily win. We know it's the fight that counts--and it is our stories that tell us that.

So for me, it's more than just the boob-tube--it's stories on the hoof, and a well written story, for me, is gold.

So, here's a jumble of my favorite stories in no particular order, and not necessarily still playing. (For example, the X-Files dies years ago, but I'll still watch it on reruns...) What're yours?

X-Files
Medium
CSI (all of them EXCEPT Miami)
Two and a half men
Friends
Moonlight (*sob*)
Quantum Leap
Farscape
Firefly
ER (for at least 1/2 the seasons... once Abby cheated on Luca, I was out, even if he forgave her...)
Chuck
Pushing Daisies (can you see I've got a thing for shows that don't make it? Sucks for me!)
Law & Order--the Jill Henessey/Christ Noth years
Jake 2.0 (What IS it with me and canceled shows?)
Enterprise (I mean REALLY!)
Murphy Brown (back in the day...)
Fringe
Bones
Ghost Whisperer (Guilty PLeasure)
Monk (But it's so painful)
Burn Notice (Two words: Bruce. Campbell.)
Psych (Dule Hill--Loved him since West Wing.)
Journeyman (I SWEAR, it's like a curse!)
Wonderfalls (See?)
Freaks & Geeks (Really--the freaking kiss of television death!)
Crossing Jordan (And this show wasn't that good...I was sort of embarrassed about it, really...)
Charmed (all but the last season)
Reaper (Is that back on again, or did I kill that one too?)
24 (Because Jack Bauer IS a live action superhero)
Cold Case (it's all about the music, baby...)
Without a Trace (And Anthony LaPaglia...it's weird, that...)
and do I have to say it?
Do I have to speak it's name?
Must I?
Or can I just call it "Tadpoles swim, veals moo, and I'll fish that tank and eat that tender dish..." (Or would that title be too long? And just a smidge creepy?)

We'll just call it "Jensen and Jared beat up demons" and leave it at that!

Short story long

Item the first--my aunts and I went to visit my grandpa in the care home yesterday. It was great to see him, and he was very lucid.

That's the short version.

The long version is that Time is a sadistic mother fucker, and I know when he starts taking strips out of me, I'm gonna be pissed off. Grandpa was a tall man, over 6'2", and hale--broad of chest, handsome of face (he actually looked a little like a very very young Paul Blackthorne when he was in the military) and absolutely razor quick of mind.

Seeing that strapping body reduced by illness and that razor quick mind caged by his body was heart breaking. But he lit up like a little kid when we gave him ritz crackers and peanut butter (a family favorite food) and chocolate ice cream. My aunt urged him to get in the wheelchair at least once a day--he said, "That contraption is my nemesis."

I said, "Yeah, grandpa, but heroes get up and fight their nemesis every day."

Because he's always been larger than life, you know? He's survived four plane crashes, two brain tumors, WWII, Korea, four daughters and one son (in the 70's no less) and I'll be damned if a wheelchair is going to defeat him.

But I think time has his number, and it makes me sad to the nth degree.

Other than that?

Ladybug is evil.

That's the short version.

Dad got home and Ladybug had pen on her face, no shirt, and was coloring her brother's homework with a sharpie while I got her dinner. And that's par for the course for the little shit. I adore her, but she's gonna kill me when she hits 15. THAT'S the long version.

The Cave Troll is tired--short version.

He keeps falling asleep early and I can't figure out if it's the weather (fucking drought) or the age (he could be growing) or if he has a horrible, painful disease (because it's my greatest fear and it comes out and chews on my calf muscle at least twice a week per kid) and I'm just too much of a distracted mommy to notice. That's the long version.

I lost my wallet. That IS the long version, because I think I know where it is, but I don't want to hope. And if it is where I think it is, I just proved my departments worst fears about my flakiness, and I've got no defense. That's okay, I wrote two books about how linear thinking that doesn't respect creativity and womanhood is evil. They can look me in the eye and tell me I get paid to teach to the test all they want, but the fact that it is morally wrong and short sighted on society's part is in print under my name, and I'll stand by it. Okay, I lied. THAT was the long version. It didn't help me find my wallet, but I feel better. (Note to inquiring eyes--I have no personal animosity towards the people who are urging me to 'teach to the test'--but I am pretty upset with that particular focus in education right now, and it's damned hard to buy in when I'm fundamentally opposed to the product.)

Someone got closer to claiming the socks! Short version.

Andrea read my book and liked it and amazon is up for reviews now! Longer version.

I'm sorry for subjecting you all to my insane insecurities--I really am. A bad review just went up for Wounded, and I took it fairly well (I broke nothing, I promise) and my skin is getting thicker every day. But when you rip yourself open to let your entrails be read like runes, there is a certain fear of pain and rejection... I mean, beauty may be internal, but when you put your internals into the external and they're rejected? That just hurts. I look for the good reviews so I can deal with the bad reviews without breaking into tears and swearing off writing forever. They give me strength, what can I say? Thanks for putting up w/my insanity though--I truly do appreciate the support. (That version wasn't just longer--it was hella boring. Subject closed.)

Samurai just opened up a new KAL --and yes, it was my idea. Please don't send me rotten fruit--send me a single sock instead!!! (Or send one to your matched person--that would probably be best!!!) Seriously--this could be fun--it could end Second Sock Syndrome forever! Visit samuraiknitter.blogspot.com and see what it's all about!

And that's not just the short version-- that's the end!